


Can't See the Bottom but I'm Floating Here Supported

by mythomagicallydelicious



Series: Who is In Control? [5]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Finally, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, fjord gets some armor, lonely fjord, outcast fjord
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:40:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24065212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mythomagicallydelicious/pseuds/mythomagicallydelicious
Summary: A few distinct moments Fjord experiences in the middling years of his sailing days.
Series: Who is In Control? [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1735969
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	Can't See the Bottom but I'm Floating Here Supported

**22**

Fjord wakes up when Ronnie finds him outside of the bar they'd caroused at last night. Ronnie slaps his face lightly a few times before finding some water and splashing it on Fjord's face. He jerks up and looks around wildly. 

"Hey, Fjord, you good? No one could find ya this morning. You're supposed to take over for Peter while he's away, remember? Make arrangements for tack and bringing the new crew on board."

Fjord blinked his eyes rapidly, trying to get them to focus. Ronnie was blurred at the edges before him, the bright sunlight not making it any easier to see clearly. 

"Here, let's get ya up. I thought you said you could handle your ale, Fjord," Ronnie grunts as he wraps one hand around Fjord's waist and hoists him up to a standing position. Fjord's knees buckle almost immediately. Ronnie curses as they both stagger for balance. "What the hell, Fjord? Just how wasted did ya get last night?"

"Mm- I d-dunno, R-" Fjord turns and hurls. Hands up against the wall to keep him from collapsing in his own sick. He pants for breath after he finishes, trying to clear the suddenly brain-splitting headache that hits him.

"Whoa, okay. Let's get you back to the ship and sleep this one off, eh? I can take care of your shit until this clears up. You ready to travel?"

Fjord gives a weak nod, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve. He sees a small patch of dried blood on the sleeve and he frowns, trying to look down on himself to spot the source. Ronnie comes back around to his side and slings one of Fjord's arms over the shoulders. They stagger-step their way back down the docks to the familiar sight of _The Tide's Breath_ gently rocking in the harbor. Once aboard Ronnie helps him down to his bunk, Fjord oblivious to the obvious stares from some of their crewmates. He could barely think, let alone worry what this would do to his reputation.

"Alright, Fjord. Sleep it off, I'll send Kale to check on ya later, okay? They got the most healing experience out of all of us. Remember how they fixed up Stile's fucked up shoulder? Yeah, they'll have ya right as rain in no time. Later." Ronnie took his leave. Fjord barely noticed. The gentle rocking of the ship did nothing to still his stomach, but he knew there was nothing left in him to retch up. 

He lay back, eyes shut and fingers gripping the blanket tight, trying to remember how he got into such a sorry state. As he tried, however, his head pounded harder. And a dry, fiery ache went up the back of his throat as he grit his teeth, feeling his jaw become much too sore for the motion to cause it. He tried relaxing his body, but he couldn't unwind. And no matter how hard he tried to think on the night before, all he got was brief flashes of the scene at the bar. Men sharing drinks and stories about their time at sea. Ronnie and him going shot for shot with a couple of sailors from _The Wave Crier._ After that it becomes hazy. Ronnie mentioned meeting up with an old flame in town, Fjord remembers wishing him a good evening and the teasing between them. And then... _and then..._

A flashing mess of lights and shapes crowd his vision, sounds blurred and distorted and his headache returns to the forefront of his attention with a vengeance, trying to drive a spike through his skull, it feels.

Fjord gives up on remembering and tries to focus on his breathing. It had suddenly gone shallow, and that would do nothing to help the feeling of needing to throw up, he was sure. 

He'd figure out the mystery of last night later. For the moment, he kept his eyes closed and tried to sleep.

-

**23**

Fjord jumped down the last few feet to the docks, walking with purpose towards the city. The warm afternoon sun and brisk sea breeze mingled to make a pleasant atmosphere as he went. He ventured a bit farther in than he was used to, setting his sights on an inn/tavern that was nearby to a bathhouse. He paid for a room and went upstairs, taking a moment to get a feel for the room, to check if anything was left behind by the previous occupant. And to ensure he was truly alone.

He took a few moments to lay back on the bed, covers up and fully clothed, just enjoying the space that was his alone for a little bit. After some time he stood, shaking his head and scooping up his satchel and coin purse, securing it snugly on the inside of his belt, a trick he’d picked up years ago to avoid being pick-pocketed.

He made his way over to the bathhouse and purchased himself some time to clean up. Locking his things in the storage area, he grabbed some soap and slipped into the large pool. He saw workers replenishing the hot water and smiled to himself as he began scrubbing down. It felt nice to wipe off the many layers of grime, sweat, and dirt that accumulated on him.

He ran his hand through his wet hair and felt it slide through easily for the first time in months. He sighed in relief and stood, grabbing a towel and drying off. He gathered his things with no issue and exited back out onto the bustling streets of Nicodranas.

Further into town he found one of the ever-busy market districts. Merchants and hawkers alike, stalls varying from a table with wares laid out to large shops, all vying for any passerby’s attention. Fjord nodded in friendly greeting to those he passed, getting one in return from the lively denizens of the coastal town. He let himself fall into an easy grin he practiced and reserved for looking approachable, glad to know it was doing its job correctly.

It was there among the various shops that he found the one he’d been looking for. A weapons and armor shop. A man could be seen inside as he worked over a pair of leather armor, tooling it with a bone hammer. Fjord bit his lip and gathered up his nerve before turning in, calling out a greeting so he doesn’t surprise the shopkeeper.

“Hello, there!” Fjord calls, ducking in. The shopkeeper pauses, looking up with a smile of his own at the call of a customer.

“Hail, friend. What can I do ye for?”

“Well, I’m in the business of looking for some well-made armor, and a few questions around port directed me to your shop,” he says, taking a cursory glance at the displayed armor around him. He turns back and reaches out a hand to the proprietor. “Name’s Fjord.”

“Devan,” he says, giving Fjord’s hand a firm shake before releasing. “And armor is my specialty. What kind are ye needing?”

“Something sturdy. Able to stand up to the wear and tear life a sailor has, and definitely won’t get rusty.”

“Aye, so I suppose plate-armor is a no?” Devan laughed before tugging on his chin in thought. “Hmm, well, I have a few packs that might do the trick. What do ye think of these?” Devan led him over to some sturdy-looking leather armor on the opposite side of the shop. Fjord inspected each in turn, asking questions as he needed. Devan certainly knew what he was talking about, and pointed out the advantages and disadvantages to each set he looked over.

“I think this will do me proper,” Fjord says, picking up the set that had first caught his eye. Devan nodded beside him and walked back over to the main counter.

“Alright, that particular set of armor costs—“Devan checked a few receipt papers from beneath the counter and gave him his total. Fjord tried to haggle it down just for the sake of the rhythm of trade. He’d been saving for armor for well over a year at this point, and he knew he finally had more than enough for whatever he needed. Finally they settled on a price and Fjord wrapped his armor in a spare piece of cloth, also purchasing some armor oil to keep it in good shape.

He waved his goodbye and thanks to Devan and wandered back out onto the street. He took his time heading back to the inn he’d bought his room at. He always loved the busy feeling of being around the markets, even when he felt separated and distant from it all. It was nice to get lost in the crowds, sometimes. To feel a part of everybody else.

Fjord ate a meal in the tavern that night, enjoying a set done by a traveling band performing there. He joined a table where games of chance and cards were being played, betting his hard-earned silvers and gaining access to the more interesting denizens of the bar that night. A higher-stakes game as a few gold pieces landed in the mix. It led to good conversation and more than a few compliments his direction for his fine appearance and sweet words. 

It was refreshing, being around new people who took an interest in his stories and leaned into his strange looks and hopefully appreciated his charm. His crew were good, solid people, but it was nice taking a break from the familiar and seeing if he could take a deep breath and mingle with a different type of people.

When he was done with them, he'd taken a lot of their silver, a bit of their gold, and all of their good opinions. It was a nice change, to leave a good impression somewhere as an individual, not as a part of the crew. But still, his week of free time was over, and he had duties to perform. He withdrew his belongings from the inn and headed back to the docks without looking back. He put his belongings back in place and went above deck to see to what his responsibilities were for the following week to prepare to be sea-worthy again.

-

**26**

Fjord jumped down to the docks, shaking his legs out and getting used to the solid ground for a moment. They were staying for a week or so this time, taking some repair time and hopefully trading out some crew. But tonight everyone had the day for themselves. He put a hand to his pocket and leafed over the coin he had. Did he want a rowdy atmosphere or a relaxing night in one of the nicer inns?

Crews from all over streamed beside him, some roughly bumping shoulders with barely a word thrown back in acknowledgement. There was laughter and jokes and desire glinting in the eyes of many men as they made their way ashore. Fjord followed some men from one of the other ships, curious to hear how other ships had made out of the last few storms.

He found himself at a lively pub, the pungent smell of unwashed sailors and stale salty sweat was heavy, but the ale looked to be poured in plentiful measures and all over there was talk between patrons and in the corner a couple performers were leading the room in some popular sailing songs.

Fjord grinned and walked to the bar, already placing down the copper and gesturing for a mug. A man missing three teeth smiled at him and shoved it over, ale sloshing over the sides and making the counter even stickier. Fjord nodded in appreciation and turned to survey the room. He picked his way over to the corner by the performers and listened to the dramatic ballad it had turned into. Nodding along to the beat, he let the environment wash over him.

It was loud, boisterous, and fun. It was high-energy and smelled exactly what you’d expect from cramming forty-odd fisherman and sailors into a small bar. It was lonely as Fjord took another drink and hummed along to the music, no one to talk to and no one looking to strike up a conversation with him.

He listened to conversations around him but didn’t jump in on any of them. He caught the eye of a few other patrons and smiled but most of them turned back to their parties without a word. Fjord refreshed his cup three more times and each time he thought maybe he’d use that liquid courage to jump into the lively scene, but he never did. He always did care too much about what other people thought of him. It’s what held him back from the possibility of making a fool of himself in situations like these.

Sure, he could have joined his crew at whatever establishment the majority of them ended up at, but he’d really tried pushing himself tonight. He shouldn’t have bothered.

With a heavy sigh he knocks back his fifth refill in one long chug, slamming the mug back on the counter and tossing a silver to the barkeep as tip. For putting up with him, he supposed, even though they never even spoke.

He stumbled back out into the city, slurring over the words to one of the songs at the tavern and following the path back to the ship. He climbed aboard, bumping into the wall a few times, and found his bunk, flopping onto it and passing out immediately.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Comments/Kudos appreciated :D


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